


Whoever Will Listen

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Control, negotiated sex with other while in a monogamous relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:07:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taylor’s learned a thing or two about Harry this week, but the most apparent is his ability to go from really sexy to unfairly cute in a matter of seconds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whoever Will Listen

**Author's Note:**

> We described this on Twitter the other day as “the Taylor equivalent of that ‘Eleanor is a good person’ [fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/497918)” and can’t really come up with a better description. Also because [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/e02569c672f906c349ff56574206fec7/tumblr_merw0jdFu91qfywojo1_400.png) conversation took place. We're not sure how and why this happened but we're sort of relieved it's done.

The first night is quiet, sheltered from New York’s sempiternal blinking lights, and Harry is drunk and a little confused, pouting and mumbling about Louis, he said something about Christmas-

And she doesn’t have the heart to do much more than lend him her toothpaste because he forgot his own, let him sprawl a little on his side of the bed, two pillows shoved against his flank like he desperately needs another body there to make it work, and although it’s a specific one, maybe Taylor’s breathing and the warm pillows can do the job.

;

The second night has Taylor thinking of middle-school sleepovers, talking of summer vacations and nights sneaking out of the cabins at camp. “This was our friend Cal’s, in Santa Monica,” Harry tells her, offering his phone, and Taylor coos at the image on the screen, a self-portrait of Harry and Louis on a hammock. “We sort of- dropped off the map for a few days after the VMAs; he went to Florida later with Eleanor but we got to have our own little holiday for a bit.”

There’s Santa Monica at Cal’s and a bathroom at a bar in Wellington, a hotel room in Charlotte and a beachside terrace in the early morning in Miami. Harry opens right up, and Taylor can’t hold it against him- he’s bursting at the seams with all this love, and he obviously doesn’t get to _do_ this often, to be proud of what he has and show it off to someone who doesn’t see him on a daily basis or hear about it every other night on the phone. So she smiles and nods and wonders if finding something like this, like the sheer unbridled adoration Harry feels for Louis, always has to come with the obstacles Harry and Louis face.

;

“Well,” Taylor says, sometime during the third night, “fuck.” Harry laughs softly, pressing his face to her shoulder briefly and pulling away, leaving it damp. Taylor huffs at him and he rolls his eyes, mutters something that sounds like “proper drama queen,” under his breath, flops backwards onto the bed beside her and closes his eyes.

She glances over after a second, finds him looking satisfied and still shiny with wet, all around his soft, pink mouth and down his chin and up his jaw, and she reaches out to touch a finger to the gleam and he preens. “Do you want, um,” she says, eyes flickering down minutely, and he shakes his head, eyes still closed. 

“Can’t, sorry love.” He doesn’t sound sorry, but Taylor’s strangely alright with that, wonders how her fanbase would react to a song about the best sex of her life with no strings attached and a boy who wouldn’t get off because he wasn’t hers.

;

Jingle Ball is exhausting, on the fourth night, and Taylor can’t stop apologizing when Harry’s band leaves for the airport right after their performance and he stays behind. He says it’s nothing, watches her performance from side stage with his phone in hand and then tucks it into his pocket to take her hand instead on the way to the car. They don’t leave much later than the band, really, but it’s long enough to warrant a private plane for her, Harry, and a member each of their intimidatingly large security posses. With only the pilot, copilot, and a polite, warm-eyed stewardess that sleeps on one of the empty recliners at the back of the plane upon Harry’s insistence, out of seven people flying across the Atlantic, two of them sit across each other with a big blanket shared across their laps.

;

“So,” Taylor says, flopping onto the mattress on night five. She feels slightly more human now that she’s washed off all the gunk and showered the spray out of her hair, and Harry looks inhumanely good since he’s done the same, is flipping channels on her tv. She’s not sure why he’s here, other than he’d asked, earlier, and she’d said yes, and he hadn’t said anything about Louis and she _hadn’t_ asked.

“So,” Harry draws out, long sleepy vowels that make her roll her eyes as he turns to her with a smirk. “Feel better then?”

She shrugs, and knows what’s coming before he opens his mouth- “Bet I could help y’feel _better_ ,” and they both laugh a little because, honestly. 

He doesn’t move towards her, though, and she’d be confused but he has that thoughtful look on his face. He plays with his phone, says, “so, Lou- Lou thought he might come, actually. To. He wants to watch.”

Taylor- stops, looks at him and entirely ignores the tv, because, _what?_ “Oh, um- is. Wait, is that- I don’t want to like-” She rubs at her temples, because she’s had time to think about this, about what happened two nights ago and the texts, the laughter they’ve shared since then, and. Harry’s still very much _taken_ , and she gets that, but this is maybe going a bit far. “Are you sure?”

Harry looks momentarily perplexed. “Well. I mean, we are? Like, if you’re not comfortable with it, that’s fine, he’s not- I can call him, it’s just. He thinks it’s hot.” He shrugs, like this really isn’t _that_ complex, and Taylor envies that, really she does, but. But. For all the names, she’s never really been called a _homewrecker_ before, and she doesn’t really intend to be. 

“He thinks it’s hot,” she tries, a little breathless. 

Harry nods, smiles at her tentatively, like he’s a bit afraid to break her. “We c’n just talk about it when he gets here, maybe? We don’t have t’do anything.” He picks up the remote and clicks the volume on, and Taylor hadn’t even realized he’d muted it. 

So, they wait.

;

Taylor really isn’t sure what to expect when they hear the knock at the door. Harry’s on his feet before the three sharp raps are even through, taking long strides across the room and peeking out through the peephole with a hand on the door handle. His shoulders relax, and when he opens the door, Louis steps in and pulls the door closed behind him, a four-pack of Margarita coolers in hand. He gives a practiced look around the room, and then, satisfied, grabs Harry’s chin and gives him a quick peck on the lips before even letting his eyes rest on Taylor.

“H’lo,” he says, then, smiles at her and it’s mostly teeth, and Taylor’s first thought is that he looks so, so tired. She waves a little. He waves the four pack back, says, “You drink, yeah? I thought we all’d do well with a drink.”

“That looks yummy,” she nods, twirls a strand of her hair as Louis toes off his shoes and Harry hovers near him, like he can’t keep away- which makes sense, considering the things he’s told her.

“Thanks for letting me drop by,” Louis says, and Taylor thinks, _this is it_ , but he just sort of smiles, softer this time, a little smirky in the corners. He settles the drinks on the bed, lets Harry take the middle and settles himself next to him, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. For the first time, Taylor’s confronted with how _little_ he is, feels awkwardly long-limbed and graceless in his presence. But Harry sprawls out again, and it makes her feel a bit better. 

“Oh, it’s really- it’s nothing,” Taylor says belatedly. She wonders if there’ll be hell to pay for this somewhere down the line- if anything will _change_ if they do this. Then again, if nobody knows, she’s not sure there can be consequences. She’s still unsure of _why_ they’ve chosen to spend their first night back home here, with her, when they could just as easily be at their place before they have to go to Manchester tomorrow. She leans forward and pulls a bottle from the pack, twists off the cap with a brief look at the label and takes a small sip, so painfully aware of every little gesture she and the others make. 

Harry settles for _Law & Order_, and Taylor supposes the gap between him and Louis must be entirely out of habit, doesn’t hold their lack of comfort around her against them. Louis holds himself like a cat, royal, all measured expressions and light steps, something ethereal, almost like a pixie or spirit in jeans and a Blink-182 shirt. She’s jealous of his cautiousness, the way he may be slighter than Harry, shorter than both of them, but with a few casual words already holds such an important role, such presence.

Louis reaches across Harry to take a bottle, palms one off to him, and Taylor almost asks why he couldn’t have got it himself, but Harry _beams_ , and though it’s quickly stifled, it’s enough for her to understand a little better. Louis smiles back, and Taylor busies herself with ripping at the paper around the neck of her bottle. 

“So, I know about Jingle Ball, but Grammy noms,” Louis says, “Looked loads of fun. That dress was quite sparkly.”

“Yeah!” Taylor grins, thankful for the small talk. Harry gives a loose thread at the seam of Louis’ jeans a thoughtful look before picking at it, lip between his teeth and brows furrowed. “I like sparkles,” she says, feeling intelligent.

Louis nods though, “Y’looked quite precious,” and Taylor isn’t sure if she’s being judged, but she’ll take it at face value and nod along.

Harry has the loose thread wrapped around his finger, is tugging at it distractedly, glances up. “Lou wore a sparkly shirt for, uh. Something? What was it?” 

“More of a speckled look,” Louis says, but smiles at Harry. “It did look a bit sparkly, though, you really liked it.”

“D’you like sparkly stuff?” Taylor asks, and then feels a little- she’s not sure about the etiquette of the question, if it’s like asking a lesbian if she likes undercuts. 

Louis chuckles, and Harry grins between both of them as she starts to apologize. “No, it’s- I like some sparkly things,” Louis settles on, looking amused.

“Sparkling wine,” Harry points out, and Louis laughs, bright, different from the few times she’s heard him laugh before, less restrained but less loud, too.

 _You look younger,_ Taylor almost says, but catches herself. “Well that’s because sparkling wine is delicious,” she tells Harry. 

Nodding, Harry tips his head onto Louis’ shoulder, lets his hand fall flat on Louis’ thigh, a silent _I’m glad you could come_ that has Taylor feeling like an intruder in her own hotel room, but then Louis is settling his bottle on the bedside table and licking his lips.

“So Haz told me you did some things,” he begins, and Taylor drops the bit of paper she’s been peeling off her bottle.

She’s sure she looks like a deer in the headlights, frozen staring at Louis and then her eyes darting to Harry, but before she can say anything, Louis is rolling his shoulders and saying, “He told me how he ate you out the other night.” Harry has tipped his head up to peer at Louis’ mouth now, looking proud of himself, and really, nothing in her career thus far has prepared Taylor for this moment. 

“Mentioned you two had talked about doing it again,” Louis is saying, “He showed me the text-”

And of course Taylor knows the text he’s talking about, but she can really blame Harry for that; he’d sent her _glad you had a good time ;) maybe again soon yeah?_ and she’d felt too scandalous for her skin, tapping out _definitely want your tongue again yes_. 

“So,” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s knee, “I told him I wanted to watch.”

Taylor honestly thinks she might die, just like this, because Louis Tomlinson is laughing at her with his eyes, and Harry won’t stop grinning, and because one thing is- is having a taken boy with his mouth between her legs, but having his boyfriend there willingly is an entirely different story. 

Louis looks like he gets it though, cocks his head. “Too scandalous for a good girl? It’s a bit too late for that, if I’m honest. I could tell you where his mouth has been.” He’s not trying to sound mean, just. Softly mocking, Taylor realizes, just enough of a challenge that she’s actually piqued to take it. 

And the thought of the whole thing is so obscene and so _arousing_ to her, honestly- she crosses her legs, “I, um- oh, well that.”

Louis goes up on his knees, shuffles gracefully behind Harry to her and kisses her cheek, leans back but stays close, close enough that every word feels intimate. “You want it, don’t you?” He jerks his chin at Harry, says, “Look at him, he wants to taste you, love. Just let me watch. And then maybe you can watch too.” 

Harry’s gaze is glued to them both, now, Taylor realizes, his eyes flickering between them like hers had between them only moments before. It’s distracting enough that she almost misses Louis’ last words, whisper soft against her ear as he pulls back, but they catch in her mind like the shiver they send down her spine. She’d like to think it catches Harry by surprise too, that for a second, as their eyes meet, they’re on the same page.

“Okay,” Taylor says with a deep breath, looking from Louis to Harry and back. Harry full-on _beams_ , scrunchy-eyed and dimpled, and Louis nods at them both, “Good life decision we just made, here.”

Louis pulls Harry in for a deep kiss, then, and it’s Taylor’s cue to take another long drink from her bottle and set it down, give herself a minute to breathe and uncross her legs, pointedly ignore the tingling warmth in her belly. When she turns, Louis has his forehead pressed to Harry’s and is whispering almost into his mouth as he unbuttons Harry’s shirt. She doesn’t _listen_ because that feels too intrusive, still, but as Louis pushes the shirt off Harry’s shoulders, straightens out his necklaces, she _hears._ Things like _slow, don’t get carried away too quickly_ and _be a gentleman_ and _for me, babe_.

“Okay,” Louis says, taps at Harry’s ribs and looks right at him, “go on and drop trou, yeah? But leave your pants on, darling, don’t want you poking anyone’s eye out.”

Taylor can’t help giggling, particularly when Harry scrambles off the bed to undo his jeans, and Louis grins at her. “Precious, isn’t he?”

“Sickening, really,” she says, and knows it’s the right thing when Louis’ grin widens. She thinks she might get why Harry lights up every time Louis smiles at him, at least a little bit. It’s like having the sun turn on all for you. 

“‘m right _here_ ,” Harry mumbles, sounding terrifically unbothered, and Taylor turns to make a face at him, except that he’s all. Naked, and things, and she figures that it’s acceptable to take a moment to appreciate Harry Styles in his natural state. 

Louis nods, “we can see you, love,” and pulls Harry back in with a hand at his hip. “Let’s do something intelligent,” he proposes, and pulls the front of Harry’s underwear out with one hand, reaches in with the other and holds his hardening prick with his fingertips under the head, lets the waistband go gently so Harry’s cockhead is trapped against his tummy, secured with the elastic. “There we go,” Louis nods, and with his lip between his teeth Harry mirrors him.

“Can you please get him off tonight?” Taylor asks, sudden like ripping off a bandaid as her face flushes hot, and Louis does one of his slow smirks, spread all across his face, watching Taylor like- like he wants an explanation, so Taylor elaborates quickly, “It’s just that. That night I felt so guilty and like, I guess I understand why he wouldn’t let me help him, and I think he went to sleep like that and that really must’ve sucked, you- you know?”

Harry’s sitting on his heels with his hands in his lap and he cheers a little when Louis finally nods. “Oh, he’ll come,” Louis says, and Harry surges forward to press their mouths together, making Louis laugh against his lips.

“Ooh-kay,” Taylor breathes, relieved, and feels better about it all. “Okay.” 

Harry is still trying to lick his way into Louis’ mouth when Louis gently pushes him back, rubs one hand at his shoulder and the other at his knee. “You were going to help her out a bit, yeah?” he says. “Don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Taylor tucks a bit of her hair behind her ear as Harry crawls over. He looks at Louis, who has settled against the headboard with a pile of pillows, one last time before smiling at her sweetly and tipping her chin up with his fingertips for a single peck on the lips before trailing across her jaw and under her ear, making her toes curl and surprising a quick laugh out of her.

“Be a gentleman and help the lady get undressed, yeah, Haz?” Taylor almost jumps at Louis’ voice, and it’s not like she could _forget_ that he’s here, but she hadn’t expected him to. Talk, exactly. She glances over, and he’s raising an eyebrow at Harry like they’re having some sort of conversation. They must be, because Harry nods after a moment. “Can I, Taylor?” His fingers are moving towards the collar of her sleeping shirt, and Taylor licks her lips, says, “Yeah, yeah.”

Harry’s all gentle movements and too-big hands as he actually undoes the buttons- which Taylor _never_ has, always pulling the shirt over her head- and lights up at the sight of her light blue bra. Louis notices, gives a fond smile, “Oh, he likes those.”

“You don’t?” Taylor laughs, and Harry kisses under her collarbones but not quite at the swell of her chest, which makes it slightly hard to focus but not entirely impossible.

“I mean, I can appreciate a good pair,” Louis shrugs, “like any other lad, I s’pose. Yours are. Harry here, though, he really likes them.”

On cue, Harry nuzzles between Taylor’s breasts and hums a little, and she can feel him smiling. It’s sweet rather than sexy, and she pets at his hair, blushing a little. “Thank you,” Taylor exhales.

“Haz, take care of her bottoms? We don’t all have the same fixations as you, babe,” Louis instructs next, and Harry reluctantly pulls away and tucks his fingertips under her waistband. Taylor lifts her butt off the mattress and Harry watches her from under his lashes, slides his hands over her thighs and down her calves much more than necessary, but Taylor isn’t about to complain.

He turns to Louis with an excited smile once she’s down to just her underwear, and for a moment she’s horrified he’ll comment on the bit of wetness that must be gathering in her panties, but instead he says, delighted, “She _matches_.”

Louis smiles, a little indulgently, Taylor thinks. “Nice taste,” he nods. 

“Thanks,” Taylor repeats, feeling a little silly, but it’s a compliment and she has to be polite, even with Harry lifting her ankles out of her pooled pajama pants. 

“Just a _bit_ longer?” Harry asks, and she’s confused until she realizes he’s directed it to Louis, is making a very dangerously pathetic face; still, she doesn’t really get it until Louis shrugs, and Harry is suddenly hovering over her waist again, big hands spread over her ribs, his thumbs just nudging the edges of her bra. 

“Can I take this off?” he says, and this time it’s directed at Taylor, big green eyes and a mellow smile, and they all know she could never say no to that.

“Go ahead,” she sighs, leaning forward to allow him access, and Harry unclasps her bra at her back with a single-handed snap.

“Maybe turn down the charm, mate,” Louis says, startling her again, and she can _feel_ Harry paying attention even though he’s still busy thumbing under the straps, playing with taking it all the way off. “Don’t want t’break her.”

Harry smirks to himself and looks up at Taylor for approval before tugging the straps down, sliding the bra down her arms and straightening it out carefully on the bed beside her hip. She shivers a bit, self-consciousness creeping in- the night before she’d only shrugged out of her pants when he went down on her, and she feels properly naked now, even still in her underwear. 

Thankfully, Harry doesn’t give her much time for that, leaning to open his mouth against her right nipple and trace it with the tip of his tongue. Taylor jerks and hisses, grabbing at his shoulders, and Louis makes a noise from beside them that would probably classify as a laugh, but that she’s willing to ignore.

“She likes it almost as much as you, love,” Louis smiles, and Taylor’s eyes fall shut when Harry swipes at her other nipple with his thumb, palms the curve of her breast. Harry pulls off with a wet sound almost like a kiss and rubs the moisture left behind with his fingertips, a lazy smile spreading across his mouth when it hardens.

Louis seems to know when to snap Harry out of his fixation, though, and scoots closer to tap at his hip, “Alright, then, go on, Haz. Can’t keep ‘er waiting like this, love.”

Taylor can’t help the harsh exhale her throat finally lets go of when Harry backs down her body, straddling her upper thighs. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “‘s really nice,” and he grins at Taylor, licks his lips like he doesn’t even realize it. 

“Not a- um. problem, not a problem-” She feels like she’s babbling, snaps her mouth shut and just nods at him to go on. Which he does, with another lazy grin, nudging her thighs open with his hands and kneeling between them, settling his warm hands on her hips. She doesn’t think she’s ever been this wet before in her _life_ , and she thinks despairingly that the hotel room probably already smells like sex, that whoever cleans tomorrow will _hate_ her. Hopefully they just won’t care who had it reserved. 

Harry rubs at her through her panties, fingertips pressed into the wet spot, and Taylor almost knees him. “Oh my god,” she gasps, and Louis seems amused all over again off to the side but Taylor doesn’t have the brain capacity to get him back for it.

“Would you please just-” she starts, and then he’s rubbing his fingertips up, getting at her clit through her underwear and she sort of loses whatever she was going to say, just jerks her hips against his hand and whines. 

“Harry,” Louis admonishes, and Taylor decides she can forgive him for laughing before, “don’t be such a tease, babe, she obviously wants it. And you wanna taste her, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and Taylor _shivers_ because his voice has gone so low and it’s raspy and damn, this was a wonderful life decision, Louis was so right. “Put your tongue on me,” she says, chokey, and then, because she can’t not, “Please.”

Harry doesn’t waste anymore time, pulls at Taylor’s panties before she can even lift to allow him, and tugs them off her legs quickly. He pushes her thighs apart with his knuckles, settles between her legs and- not without a look at Louis first for approval- presses his tongue flat against her clit.

Taylor feels frozen stiff, she’s trying so hard not to move, and she _knows_ it’s not going to work, can remember Harry’s awful low laugh the first time they did this and his sucking kisses to her thighs, _you can ride my face, love_ , but Louis is right there, and she has _some_ decorum. Not much, spread out naked with Harry licking at her and her face and neck and chest gone splashy pink, but some. 

Harry licks a long, wide stripe up her cunt like he’s _savoring_ her, and Taylor really thinks she can’t be blamed for the way her thighs start shaking this soon, lifting her hips off the mattress to push against Harry’s mouth. “Wow, Haz,” she hears, knotting her fingers up in the sheets and gasping when Harry swirls his tongue around her clit, “lookit her, babe, you’re incredible at this.”

Harry just hums, pleased, and the feel of it catches low in Taylor’s stomach, drags the curls of heat up tight and throbbing, urgent. “Ahah _ah,_ ” she gasps, her hand hitting the mattress and Harry doesn’t stop, closes his mouth around her clit and sucks, and Taylor’s only sorry when she comes just like that because it’s over. She opens her eyes and tries to blink Harry’s face back into focus between her legs. 

“Brilliant,” Louis says, and pets Harry’s hair. Harry presses his head into it, eyes falling closed, and Taylor is reminded of her cat back home. She’s learned a thing or two about Harry this week, but the most apparent is his ability to go from really sexy to unfairly cute in a matter of seconds.

“Hi,” she huffs, finally, and Harry grins, lips and cheeks wet and shiny because of her.

“Hullo. Y’good?” He looks far too pleased with himself, and Taylor leans up so she can bat at his forehead with the back of her hand. 

“Very, thanks, Mr. Self Satisfied.” 

“Not quite _self_ satisfied,” Harry says, slowly blinking up at Louis. At some point he’d moved to the bit of the bed at Taylor’s side, edging right up against Harry, and he’s rearranging his fringe now. 

“I could go,” Taylor says, automatically, before remembering that it’s very much her room, and she’s not even sure she can move her legs. 

Louis looks over at her, and his eyes are narrowed, eyelashes thick over dark eyes. “Don’t you want to watch?” Taylor is vaguely aware of Harry moving to his knees between her legs, grabbing at Louis’ arm, but she can’t look away. “I think I want you to watch,” Louis adds, and it’s not something Taylor can argue with. 

“I can- watch,” she decides, scooting up the bed, trying to fold her legs together and get back into her pajama pants and failing at both. 

“Good,” Louis nods, and drags Harry into a kiss. It’s not very long-lived, though; he pulls away and scrunches his nose, and Harry whines a little. “Babe, you’re sticky,” Louis says, and Harry thumbs at his chin with a frown. “Nothing personal, darling,” Louis adds, glancing at Taylor and immediately back at Harry, missing the scarlet creeping across her cheeks.

Harry grabs a fistful of the sheets under them and leans down to wipe his cheeks and chin with it. Louis nods in approval, pecks at Harry’s lips experimentally and gives him a thumbs up. “Much better.”

Settling half into Louis’ lap, Harry kisses Louis in what are obviously all the right ways, learned from plenty of experience. Seeing them in action only adds to what Taylor already knows about them, to the connection Harry gushed about a few nights ago, and they fit almost like puzzle pieces, made for each other and for this. 

Louis has both hands in Harry’s curls, tugging at the nape of his neck and at the crown of his head, almost as if he’s trying to pull Harry away from his mouth, even as he’s trying to pull him further into his lap. Taylor doesn’t really understand how it works, but it only seems to encourage Harry. 

After a minute Louis tries to pull away, can only do so to speak in choppy, short phrases while Harry pecks at his mouth. “Hazza, hey- babe, let’s get- _Harry_!”

Taylor can _tell_ it’s not serious, though, not with the way Harry’s beaming and excited, forehead pressed against Louis’. Louis glances down exaggeratedly at Harry’s hard dick trapped in his boxer briefs, swipes his tongue across his lower lip and Taylor thinks it should be silly when he looks back up, eyes nearly crossing in an attempt to focus on Harry, but it’s only really hot. “We gonna do something about that, then?”

“Please,” Harry breathes, tipping his chin up to press his lips to Louis’ again, “Lou.” 

Louis doesn’t respond, but he spreads his hand on Harry’s thigh, pulls at him a bit. It’s not like Harry needs the encouragement to slip into his lap, straddling one of Louis’ legs and. He’s _grinding_ down on Louis’ thigh, Taylor thinks, a little fuzzily, it’s the only word for what she’s seeing.

“Hey, love, let’s not,” Louis murmurs, gently tipping Harry’s chin up from where he’s watching his hips roll against Louis’, “Let’s not do that tonight, yeah? We want her to be able to see. You can be good and give a nice show, can’t you?”

Taylor freezes in the middle of pulling her top back on, a little incredulous, and it doesn’t help when Harry nods, “I can,” leans forward and sets his teeth on Louis’ jaw.

“Thought so,” Louis replies in his self-satisfied, mellow rasp, and grins over Harry’s shoulder when, once he gets his palm against Harry’s cock, Harry drops his head and groans into Louis’ chest.

“Here, I can, lemme,” Harry says, “I can-” and Louis kisses his neck, “yes, good.” It’s like their own language, and Taylor would be impressed except she’s too busy watching it play out. Harry manoeuvres carefully to settle between Louis’ legs, leaning his back against Louis’ chest and letting his head fall against Louis’ shoulder. 

The fact that Harry is still in his underpants doesn’t seem to deter Louis spitting into his palm and wrapping a loose fist around Harry, his knuckles outlined in the black cotton as he strokes Harry slowly, deliberately. He kisses Harry’s shoulder before setting his chin on it, glancing up at Taylor with beautiful and commanding and _challenging_ blue eyes and then down at Harry’s cockhead where it peeks out of his underwear, foreskin sliding on the upstroke. Taylor can’t tell what he says, but he whispers _something_ into Harry’s ear that makes him shiver and nod, chin hitting his chest and eyes droopy. Taylor’s long forgotten she meant to snap the last three buttons of her top.

They work out a rhythm between them, Louis’ arm tensing and relaxing on each stroke, speeding up Harry’s breathing and coaxing his hips further up into each touch. Harry’s chest is heaving now, lightly flushed straight down from his neck to the sparse trail of hair below his belly button, where Louis’ hand disappears into his underwear. He’s making quiet noises, too, smothered in Louis’ neck, just below his ear. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, Haz,” Louis says, and Taylor pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Harry’s hands tighten at Louis’ thighs, fingernails dragging across denim, and when the jerks of Harry’s hips up to meet Louis’ strokes begin to grow more erratic, Louis doesn’t slow down, only presses his mouth against Harry’s ear, firm, “not yet, babe, hey.”

“Louis,” Harry strangles out, “Lou-” He’s full on squirming now in Louis’ lap, hips doing wild, off-kilter figure eights like he can’t figure out if he wants to fuck Louis’ fist or pull away from it. 

“Breathe, Harry,” Louis whispers, “Breathe for me, just a bit longer now, you can do that.”

And all of a sudden Taylor connects the dots and the other night _makes sense_ , and she can’t stop herself asking in a stutter, “Oh wait- _shit_ , did you just tell him he couldn’t- and then that’s- that’s why he didn’t- woah.”

Louis looks up at her, and his smile is easy, proud. “He’s great, isn’t he.” He smoothes his free hand over Harry’s stomach, “See, everyone can tell how good you are for me.”

Harry’s whole body jerks with shivers and he whines and he’s on the verge, Taylor’s positive there’s absolutely no way he can last more than a few seconds, but he’s _still_ holding on. “Please,” he chokes out, and his eyes look a little watery, and Taylor thinks she might have to look away after all, like the suspicions of how bright these two burn together and for each other have all been confirmed at once.

Louis’ hand goes still in Harry’s boxers and Harry’s head jerks up, twisting so he can see Louis’ face. His own is tight with the struggle, his mouth thin with his lower lip between his teeth, and Louis brings his free hand up to Harry’s face, thumbs at the corner of his mouth and squeezes at his jaw. He turns his face into Harry’s, presses his nose to Harry’s cheek, and it’s not quite a whisper, plenty loud for Taylor to hear. “Come on, babe.”

It really takes seeing it to believe it- Taylor watches Harry fall apart in Louis’ arms, stomach tensing and fingertips digging into Louis’ thighs and brows furrowed, a long, throaty moan punching out of him as his hips jerk up and his cock spurts, bulging out of his underwear and curving up against his stomach in Louis’ hold. “There you go,” Louis says, low, and he gives Harry a few quick strokes, milking his orgasm, one hand still holding Harry’s chin and petting at his jaw.

Harry goes limp before his hips stop moving, and Louis slowly eases his hand out of Harry’s underwear, carefully tucking his soft prick back in. He spreads his hand flat across Harry’s lower stomach, and the realization that it’s _wet_ with his come hits Taylor like a punch. 

“Told you,” Louis says, meeting her wide eyes and smiling, tiny and bright. “Isn’t he lovely?”

Taylor swallows, feels all of a sudden like she’s in a dream or a tv show or a movie, anything but her real life. Still, she nods, takes a shuddering breath and pushes the words out. “That was... really, really impressive.”

“Wasn’t it?” Louis chirps in agreement, presses his hand down on Harry’s tummy and kisses his cheek. Harry is still taking a moment to regain coherence, has let go of one of Louis’ legs to poke at the wetness over his abs, fingers dancing clumsily around Louis’ own.

“That was good,” Harry says, finally, wrecked, and Louis nods, “‘course it was, babe, absolutely brilliant.”

Taylor suddenly has the thought that Louis probably thinks everything about Harry is _absolutely brilliant_.

Harry is nuzzling up under Louis’ chin, pressing tiny nonsense kisses all over his throat, and for a moment everything is quiet as his breathing calms, as everything slows down. “Can I touch you?” Harry asks, and Taylor watches his teeth catch on Louis’ skin. 

Louis hums, as if in deep thought, and Taylor can see him shifting his hips against Harry’s ass. “D’you wanna suck me?” he offers, and Taylor shivers as Harry lights up. “Think you could? You do need rest, love, you look quite tired.”

“I can,” Harry nods, already leaning forward, shaking his fringe out of his eyes. “Please, I want to.” 

Louis looks over Harry’s shoulder to Taylor, quirks an eyebrow. “Will your delicate sensitivities be compromised, d’y’think?”

“I really don’t think there’s much you could do now to, um, further compromise my sensitivities,” Taylor says- the words are too big for her brain capacity right now, and they’re clearly over Harry’s head as he just hums cheerfully and begins undoing Louis’ jeans. “But don’t take that as a challenge,” she quickly adds.

“Nah, all things considered, this should be pretty tame,” Louis shrugs, lifts his hips off the bed and pulls his underwear down with his jeans, helping Harry. 

Really, Taylor’s seen plenty of dicks in her time. Plenty enough, anyway, is the point, to say that Louis’ is the prettiest by far. She squirms back against the headboard and clutches her hands around her knees to keep them still, watches as Harry licks into Louis’ mouth while his fingers trace the underside of his prick. Louis’ moving his hips in tiny circles, anticipating the touches, and Taylor realizes that in spite of the fact that he’s been waiting this long, he’s still going to let Harry take his time. 

Harry wiggles down the bed soon enough, though, wraps long, gentle fingers around Louis’ dick and, settled on his stomach much like he had between Taylor’s legs, laps at Louis’ cockhead, sucking a kiss over the slit and then sliding down, taking just a couple inches of Louis’ prick into his mouth. He’s a sight, inky black lashes and flushed cheeks and slightly sweaty fringe that Louis gently pushes to the side, giving Harry endearment after endearment.

“You were so good, Haz,” Louis groans, petting at the curls behind Harry’s ear. “Really impressed ‘er too, babe, shoulda- fuck, _Haz_ \- seen her reaction when you came for me.”

Taylor can watch as Harry’s fingers tighten at that, curling at the crease of his thigh, on his hip. He makes a noise, muffled but no less pleased, and it’s- it’s _sweet_. Like this Taylor can barely see the curve of his lips around Louis’ prick- can barely see the flushed weight of Louis’ dick, for that matter, but she can listen, and it’s almost as good. 

Harry pulls off with a wet sound, strokes Louis slowly and nuzzles at the base of his cock. “Really wanna make you come, Lou,” he says, kisses the inside of Louis’ thigh and drags his flat tongue up his shaft.

“Gonna,” Louis assures him, sifting fingers into Harry’s fringe and stroking a thumb down his jaw. “You wanna swallow or d’you want me t’come on your face? Or- wherever, whatever you like, yeah?” 

“In m’mouth,” Harry nods sleepily, and Taylor’s mouth feels dry, her chest a little constricted. She watches as Harry licks at the vein going up the side of Louis’ dick, as he slides his lips clumsily over the flared head, mouth red and swollen and shiny and barely touching Louis’ prick, ghosting.

After Harry, Taylor expects more of a show from Louis- or at least, more than the quick jerk of his fingers in Harry’s curls as they pull away to grab his shoulder, more than his breathless, “Harry,” and the way his eyes fall shut, lashes smudging his cheeks dark. That’s all there is, though, all the warning she gets before the shock of realizing he’s coming, just like that. But it seems that Harry is amply prepared, even as Louis’ hips stutter up, desperately off-rhythm. 

Harry strokes at Louis’ cock with just his fingertips, mouth open wide and tongue out to catch Louis’ come, some of it dripping over his chin and across his upper lip. Taylor can’t see Harry’s expression, but Louis stares enough for both of them- he struggles to keep his eyes open, fixed on Harry’s face between his legs, adoring, fingers all tangled up in Harry’s curly hair.

Taylor thinks, belatedly, that she might just get off again when they’ve gone. She might have to. 

Louis pulls Harry up by the shoulders, kisses him like he’s drowning, and he hadn’t made a noise before but he does now, urgent tiny sounds against Harry’s mouth that make Taylor’s heart ache. 

And this is what Harry never prepared her for. Even with their eyes closed and mouths meshing together, they’re so open, laid out bare and spent for Taylor to see without having to pry. She thinks back to those pictures Harry showed her, to Wellington and Charlotte, the way the images may have been grainy and sometimes too dark to really see more than outlines, and she realizes more than ever that this is their life, that they probably hurt each other constantly in the outside world, that only they themselves understand each other entirely and can forgive each other once they’re safe behind closed doors.

She wonders what made her special- what drove them to share this with her, to open up to a relative stranger like this. Perhaps when you can’t show your love off to everyone you’ll show it to anyone, stake your claim in front of whoever will listen. 

Once they slow down, which seems almost impossible and unwarranted, Taylor finally does the forgotten buttons of her shirt and just listens, rather than watching, with eyes fixed on her lap, a little afraid that this might be too much, more than she signed up for. 

“Was it good?” Harry asks, and Louis must nod, kiss him on the mouth, “It was great, Haz. You’re so good.”

The bed dips, then, and Harry is leaning towards her, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and smiling, roguish and careful. “You’re good, Tay?”

Taylor nods, pulls her hair out of its messy ponytail and re-does it just to have something to do with her hands. “I’m good, thank you,” she reassures him, and feels nothing but fondness for the way his tummy and underwear are still stained with come.

“I think, then,” Louis says, clearing his throat, “that we might head off t’our room, if you don’t mind? I got us something just for the night rather’n going home, can’t expect him to drive like this.” His voice has its measured lilt back, casual but guarded with only a hint of tiredness, and he gestures at Harry, droopy-eyed and sated.

“Oh, no, of- of course,” Taylor smiles, and with a feline stretch, Louis gets up to grab his jeans and underwear from the floor, Harry’s own trousers and shirt. They dress in silence, backs turned to Taylor as they sit on the edge of the bed, shoulders brushing, and- and Taylor remembers a picture Harry showed her, one taken after the Olympics by the girl Louis is supposed to be dating. She grabs for her phone on the bedside table and snaps a shot quickly, warm light and white sheets and their wide backs and shoulders, the messy back of Harry’s head and Louis’ feathery, spiky fringe sticking up in every which way.

Louis turns around as she’s checking the photo, looks at her curiously. And she’s not sure she’s ready to share that, yet, just smiles back at him and resolves to send it to Harry later; there’s plenty of rainy days to save it for. Louis squeezes Harry’s side and disappears into the bathroom as Harry finishes sliding into his jeans- he reappears with a wash cloth, which he holds out for Taylor. “Here you are, love,” he says, and hands her the now lukewarm last bottle, from somewhere at the foot of the bed, and the television remote as well. “D’you need anything else d’you think?” 

“I think I’m good,” Taylor blinks, taking the washcloth, and Louis nods, leans down to kiss her cheek. “He’s so lucky to have you,” she says, when Louis is close, and he smiles bashfully, all the loudness and silliness and sarcasm suddenly gone. “He really, really loves you, Louis.”

“I do,” Harry nods, watching from the other side of the bed, and comes around to kiss her cheek, too, all rumpled shirt and birds-nest hair. Louis slings an arm around Harry’s waist, hip-checks him, and Taylor realizes they’re wearing each other’s shirts, Louis’ inside out and tight across Harry’s chest, Harry’s swimming off one of Louis’ shoulders and pooling around his tummy. “Cute,” she says, and Harry beams. 

“He is,” Louis nods, agreeably, and ruffles the mess of Harry’s ‘do. “But he’ll fall over soon if I don’t get him to bed, and there’s no hope for me dragging him there, so we’d better go. It was lovely, Miss Swift.”

“I could say the same,” she laughs. “Thank you boys again, I guess, for... everything.” She could list things, from opening up to simply just the drinks and everything in between, but Harry’s yawning and this will have to do.

“Just credit us in the liner notes,” Louis says, and he’s already guiding Harry towards the door. “Or, no, rather, that’s an awful idea.”

Taylor’s not so sure.

She’ll just be subtle.

;

In the morning, Harry’s alarm is set for too early, but he wakes up to a picture message from Taylor, captioned with something pretty and rhyming that’ll end up in her next album. He rolls over and hooks his chin at Louis’ shoulder, wakes him up with a hand rubbing circles at the small of his back. “Lookit this, love.”

Taylor wakes up alone, but her phone is buzzing on the bedside table, and when she picks it up, it’s to a text from a name that’s taught her to smile everytime it pops up lately. _he loved the pic,_ it says, and Taylor straightens out her bangs with a little smile, gets out of bed humming a new tune under her breath. 


End file.
